All I Want For Christmas Is You
by BabyBadger
Summary: House knows what he wants for Christmas, but this probably isn’t the best way to get it. Set during Merry Little Christmas. This is a prequel to Not Entirely Human Error, so there's a definite hint of House/Chase.


**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never mine, no matter how hard I try. Thanks for sharing them, David Shore!

**Summary:** House knows what he wants for Christmas, but this probably isn't the best way to get it.

Author's Note: Not very seasonal, I know, but I realized that the next chapter of Not Entirely Human Error makes a lot more sense if you've read the prequel. So here it is.

--

Chase grabbed his bag in anticipation of finally leaving work. For the first time since he came to the States, he hadn't volunteered to work Christmas Eve. He figured a Christmas Day spent filling in for colleagues with families was enough this year. Some friends had invited him over to join a party, but he was seriously considering just going back to his flat and having a quiet evening. Answering questions about his aching jaw was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

He almost made his escape, but then Wilson entered the Diagnostics office, looking worried. Chase couldn't help but notice that Wilson kept looking around as if there was supposed to be someone else there.

"Can I help you, Dr. Wilson?"

"Oh God, there's no one else here, is there?"

"No, the lot's headed off into the night. If you need something, you're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"No offense, Chase, but you're the last person I want to ask for help right now."

Frowning, Chase muttered, "That's flattering. I guess I'm the guy everyone would least like to see these days."

Wilson stopped glancing around and looked at Chase, apparently just realizing what he had said. "Oh… No, Chase, I didn't mean that you _couldn't_ help, just that what I wanted to ask is probably the last thing you'd want to do."

Chase grimaced. _Wilson'll probably be right about that_. "There are a lot of things I don't want to do; which one were you needing?"

'I'm truly sorry to bring you into this, but… You know House got his hands on some pain pills this afternoon, right?"

_Shit. This had to do with House. _"Yeah, it was kinda noticeable."

"He's still angry with me about the Tritter deal, and he stomped out of here to spend Christmas Eve alone. I've tried calling him several times and he's not picking up. Something about the way he's been acting lately… Well, I'm concerned about him. I was planning to go by his place and check on him, but I just got a call about a terminal patient who came in and probably won't last the night. She's been fighting the cancer for three years, she has no family nearby, and I need to be here for her."

Chase didn't like the way this was headed. "I don't suppose you're looking for someone to stay with your patient, are you," he stated.

"Sorry, but no. I think someone needs to swing by and make sure House is all right."

"Well, I can see why you don't think I'm the right person for the job. House doesn't want to see me any more than I want to see him."

"Chase, don't let House's inability to offer a sincere apology fool you. He feels bad about hitting you. He knows you didn't deserve it and he screwed up big time."

Chase snorted. "Yeah, well, he's got a dodgy way of showing it. I don't expect an apology from him. At this point, I no longer expect a_nything_ from him."

"I know, and I don't blame you. The way he's been behaving, he doesn't deserve to have either of us worry about him, but let's face it, there aren't that many people around who would give a damn if something happened to House."

Chase frowned. "Are you really thinking that House might be in some kind of trouble?

"I can't explain it," Wilson shrugged. "I just have this feeling that something's not right. Look at it this way, Chase. If I'm wrong and everything's fine, you can use this opportunity to rip House a new one. You deserve the chance."

_Great_, Chase thought, _looks like I'm in for the ride_. "Well, I'll call this a favor to you, not him. Guess I'll go get it over with, then. You better see to your patient now. I'll keep you posted"

"Thanks, Chase. I owe you one."

"That'd be right."

--

Chase shook the last of the snow out of his hair as he stood in front of House's door. He had knocked and knocked, with no reply. Wilson's key was in his pocket, but he could just imagine what House would say if Chase walked in on him. There was no response to his yelling through the door for House to let him in. Finally, he gave up and used the key.

As he stepped in, the place was too quiet. Maybe House wasn't even home; Chase would have expected music in the background, or maybe just the TV. He called out to House, but still no answer. He noticed the smell of sickness in the air, and then, he realized there was someone lying on the floor at the other end of the sofa.

"Shit!" Chase hopped over the guitar leaning against the sofa and knelt by House's side. He had already seen the open bottle of whiskey on the table and the empty pill bottle on the floor beside House. Chase pulled House onto his back and out of the puddle of vomit. House's vitals weren't encouraging; his pulse was slow and thready, his breathing shallow and irregular, but at least he wasn't dead. Chase figured House had been home about three hours; how long had it been since he passed out?

He briskly rubbed his knuckles into House's sternum. "C'mon, House, wake up, you pathetic piece of shit! Bloody wanker – don't you do this to me!" If House survived the night, he was going to have a very sore chest in the morning.

Finally, House's eyes opened halfway, rolling in their sockets. OK, this was better. He didn't seem aware that Chase was there, but at least he wasn't comatose. Chase quickly examined the pill bottle; oxycodone, and the prescription was not in House's name. The label said 30 pills and there were none left. House had been popping them most of the day, though, so who knew how many he brought home. There were a few pill remnants in the vomit, so House hadn't digested all the medication he'd taken recently.

Chase took a deep breath and considered what to do next. House needed to detox from all the depressants in his system, fast. If it had been anyone else, Chase would already have called an ambulance. This was House, though, and House was in deep shit over his drug use before this incident. No telling whether these were someone else's pills or if he'd gotten them himself under a fake name, but either way, this was felony possession of a narcotic. Tritter would never let him get away with this. If Chase took him to a hospital, House would be arrested and end up looking at real jail time, not to mention losing his medical license.

_OK, we do it here_, Chase decided. He needed to keep House awake and monitor him until his vitals were stable. Walking him around was out of the question in House's state, so the best thing would be a cold shower. A very long, very cold shower. _There's one consolation here_, Chase thought. _If House has trouble keeping awake, I have a great medical excuse for slapping him upside the head a few times_.

Now the problem of getting House to the shower; this wasn't going to be easy. House's eyes were still rolling around when they were even open, so he wasn't in any condition to help. Chase managed to wrestle House up to a sitting position, but the man was like an overcooked piece of spaghetti. _No way his legs are going to support his weight_, Chase thought, _and I can't carry him all the way. Dragging it is._

He laid House back down on the floor and grabbed the limp man's ankles. At least this way Chase could protect House's bad leg. _Serves him right if he bangs his head all the way to the shower_. Dragging that much dead weight was a slow process, though, and after a few bumps, Chase felt guilty and grabbed a small sofa pillow to wedge under House's head. _Great! I'm wrenching my shoulders out of joint and he's napping._

When they finally reached the bathroom, Chase was relieved to see a shower stall. He had hoped he wouldn't have to maneuver House into a tub. Once House was situated, Chase started to take off House's sneakers, then thought, _The hell with it. House can deal with the consequences in the morning._

Now came the part that Chase was looking forward to. He turned on the cold water at full pressure and aimed the showerhead at his boss. The sudden garbled stream of obscenities that rose out of the stall were rather satisfying. _Maybe I should take notes. I don't think I've ever heard some of these combinations before._ The fact that House was making so much noise was an excellent sign. Maybe this wouldn't be an all-night vigil after all.

Then House started flailing around the shower stall. _Another good sign_, Chase thought, _until he gives himself a concussion_._ Shit! I hate this._ Chase took off his shirt and leaned into the stall to hold House steady under the shower stream. Yes, the water was amazingly cold. He took the opportunity to check House's pulse. _Much better. He's definitely coming around._ All the gasping and sputtering told Chase that House's respirations were stronger too.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, House settled down. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was regular and stronger. Chase noticed that House's bad leg was kinked up a bit, so he leaned in to straighten it out a bit.

He jumped a bit when House muttered, "You smell like a wet kangaroo," into his hair. Chase sat back on his haunches and glared at his distinctly worse-for-wear boss.

"And you smelled like piss and vomit before I threw you in the shower, so don't get all shirty with me."

"Yeah, well, think you could manage to turn off the water before we both freeze to death?"

"Depends. How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I'm feeling, you moron. I'm _cold!_ I woke up and found one of my employees half-naked and hovering over me in the shower. I'm peachy. How the hell did you get in here anyway?" The words were coming out slurred, which ruined the intended effect of indignation.

"Wilson gave me a key. He was worried about you." Chase stood and turned off the water, resisting the impulse to shake his dripping hair like a dog and leave spots all over House's bathroom.

House leaned back and shut his eyes. "That's my Wilson. Always looking out for me. Maybe someday he'll finally notice that I don't thank him for it." House opened one eye and looked at Chase. "You've done your good deed for the night. You can leave now."

"Right. 'Cause you're just fine after a massive OD."

"That's right."

"Show me you can get up and walk out of that shower stall and I'll be on my way."

House surveyed the situation and frowned. "No thanks, I'm comfortable where I am. You can leave now."

Chase grabbed a towel and began to dry his hair. House was watching him with a look of curiosity. Chase picked up his shirt and put it on while watching House watch him.

"OK," House said, "Wilson feels responsible for my health and well-being. So why are _you_ here?"

"Wilson was busy," Chase shrugged.

"And you had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than come over here and stick your nose in."

Chase stopped buttoning and gave House a withering look. "You should be damn glad I stuck my nose in, or you'd be dead in a puddle of vomit right now. Nice Christmas gift for the folks."

House glared right back at him. "Don't be so melodramatic. I would have been fine. No worries. You can lock up on your way out."

"Don't think so, House," Chase smiled. "And for your information, dental surgery would have been more attractive than coming over here tonight."

"Hey, that's not nice. Don't tell me you're holding a grudge because of that," he gestured vaguely toward Chase, "face thing."

"I'm not sure this…face thing…is even at the top of my list of things to resent you for. You've given me plenty of reasons over the years."

"So, if you're so pissed off at me, why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I started tonight's detox adventure, and I'm going to see it through. Strictly as a favor to Wilson, though. Let's get you out of the shower and dried off. After I check your vitals, you can go to bed and deal with the mess you made in the living room tomorrow."

House stuck out his lower lip, which looked pretty comical combined with the wet rat imitation. "If you intend to be thorough with tonight's project, I think you should clean up the living room too."

"Pig's arse! Now get out of the shower, if you can."

It was obvious to Chase that he couldn't. House wasn't able to do better than prop himself up on his elbows and glare at the bathroom door. Before House managed to smash his face into the floor, Chase grabbed his arm and started pulling.

"Oww! Drunken cripple here! Soon to have a dislocated shoulder, no less."

"Then you could help me out and watch out for your leg. Unless you think you can walk on your own?" The fact that House wasn't protesting more vehemently answered that question for Chase. House was on his butt and trying to maneuver himself out of the shower, but his limbs were not coordinating very well, which was hardly surprising. Actually, Chase was surprised that his boss was bouncing back as quickly as he was, but then, that was probably the only up-side for years of Vicodin abuse.

--

Finally Chase had gotten House dried off and into some clean sweats. He had left House to his own devices when it came down to changing his pants, and from the muttering and thuds he kept hearing from the bathroom, it wasn't exactly a smooth process. House was clearly on the road to recovery, but he wasn't ready to take care of himself yet. Now that the crisis was over, Chase was wishing he had one of those camera phones, so he could capture some of this for posterity. After all, House would do the same for him.

"OK, I'm decent," House yelled.

"Never happen," Chase called back, but he cautiously reentered the bathroom. House was still on the floor, of course, but now he was looking a bit green, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his face. At least he was dressed.

"You don't look so good, House."

House opened one eye to glare up at Chase. "What amazing powers of observation you have. Next thing I know, you'll figure out that I've fallen and I can't get up."

Chase reached under the sink and grabbed the wastebasket, pushing it over to House's side. "If you're going to start vomiting again, use the bin."

House turned his head to rest his cheek against the cool tiles. "I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

"Don't rush it, House. You damn near killed yourself tonight, and I'm sure there's plenty more poison in your system you could stand to get rid of."

Chase watched for a couple of minutes. When House started to get his color back, Chase sat down on the bathroom floor beside House, where he could scramble out of the way quickly if necessary. House straightened out and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Neither man said anything for a while. House occasionally grimaced and shifted his leg. _Bet he's developing one hell of a headache_, Chase thought._ No way he's getting more painkillers on top of what he already took._ House was looking steadier, though, and his breathing had evened out to a normal pattern. _With a little luck, I could make it back to my place before morning. Of course, that depends on what House tells me next. _

Finally, after half an hour or so, House opened his eyes and gave Chase an appraising look. "I suppose you expect me to be grateful for this noble gesture."

"That depends, House. Were you deliberately trying to kill yourself?"

House scowled at him. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"I was there. I think I would know."

"If you weren't trying to kill yourself, then why did you make such a good try at it? They teach about the interactions of oxycodone and alcohol in first year med school. You did this on purpose."

"I don't have this reaction when I take Vicodin and drink."

"Pig's arse. You should see yourself the next day; unfortunately, the rest of us have to. And you certainly don't go through thirty Vicodin in a few hours and drink on top of that. You _knew_ you'd be in trouble tonight. Why'd you do it?"

House studied his hands for a few minutes. Chase waited for him to start rationalizing the evening away; he was damned if he was going to jump in and provide House with any justification. _What the hell am I going to do if he really was trying to off himself? I can't leave him on his own. God knows when Wilson's patient will pass on and he'll be able to come and take over._

"OK then, I screwed up," House muttered.

"That's it? You don't have a better story than that?"

"Not that I'm interested in sharing."

"That's really not good enough, House. You've been screwing up a lot lately, don't you think?"

House had the gall to look offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gee, I don't know. Overdosing, maybe, pissing off cops… Oh, I don't know, maybe…_punching your employees_."

House reached his hand out and gently brushed Chase's jaw.

"That shouldn't have happened."

Chase pulled back and frowned at House. "It wouldn't have if you hadn't _done_ it."

"I wasn't … it just _happened_."

"Right, and the damn pills just jumped down your throat tonight, I suppose."

"Don't get all pissy on me. Getting hit was all your fault anyway."

Chase would have been gobsmacked at that response coming from anyone but House. "And how do you figure that?"

"You were in my face, and…not backing off, and I saw what you were doing and it made me goddamn _angry_."

"And what was I doing that was so wrong, House?"

House paused, then turned his face away with a grimace. "You were doing my job, a hell of a lot better than I was."

That caught Chase off-guard. He settled back and studied House for a moment. "I guess that's not allowed," he said softly.

House was now staring at Chase with an odd intensity. "It shouldn't be _possible_. You just…" He frowned. "I wasn't… GodDAMN it, I can't do this conversation."

"It's no wonder, considering what's gone into your system in the past few hours. Be grateful a lot of it came back for a guest appearance. Otherwise you'd be eating charcoal in a hospital bed right now, at best."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to communicate something here, and it's making even less sense when I try to say it than when I think it, and it makes no sense for me to think it."

"Whatever it is, House, it'll probably keep 'til tomorrow, so what say we get you to bed now."

Chase started to rise, but House suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. For a few seconds, House just stared at Chase and then leaned in a bit.

"Is it OK if I kiss you?"

Chase just about swallowed his tongue at that non-sequitur. He was about to burst out laughing until he looked at House and saw the serious expression. "House, what in God's name are you prattling about?"

"I'm not prattling. I've been admiring your mouth for quite some time now. I want to kiss you."

"You want to _kiss_ me?"

"I already said that, you silly English-person. Yes, I want to kiss you."

Chase wasn't falling into this trap, whatever it was. "Uh, no. I don't think that would be a good idea at all."

"Why not? It's just a kiss. With your looks, you can't tell me no guy has ever asked you before."

"That's not the issue, House."

"Then what is?"

"Well, for one thing, I would think that the fact you've been drooling and puking with that mouth most of the evening would rule out any personal contact."

"Well, there's mouthwash, you know."

"Not enough for _my_ kissing needs, thank you."

Chase pulled free of House's hand and stood up. "C'mon, we really need to put you to bed."

House crossed his arms in a comical imitation of a five year old. "Only if you join me."

Chase had to laugh at House's defiant expression. "Not happening, House. Get up and go to bed, or I'll leave you to sleep on the bathroom floor."

House stuck out his tongue at Chase and started to lever himself up using the toilet.

Extending his hand, Chase said, "Don't be an arse, House. You'd have trouble getting up if you were sober, and there's not a chance you'll manage it now."

House glared at the offered hand for a moment, then seized Chase's wrist and awkwardly maneuvered himself upright. He promptly lost his balance and lurched into Chase, almost landing them both back on the floor.

"All right, then, mate," Chase chuckled. They somehow managing to stagger into the bedroom and over to the bed, where Chase grabbed the bedcovers and pulled them back with the hand that wasn't holding House up. "Just fall on the bed and we'll get you situated."

House had no problem collapsing sideways onto the welcoming horizontal surface. Chase pushed and prodded until he got House all the way onto the bed. He positioned the pillow under House's head and pulled the covers up halfway.

House cocked his head to look at Chase questioningly. "Hey, wait a minute."

"Yes?" Chase said in the same placid tone he used with other uncooperative patients.

"You said 'mate'. I thought you hated that über-Aussie shit."

Chase smiled. "You must be feeling better; you're using big words now. Anyway, I thought I was British."

"You are, but sometimes you act Australian."

"I have no idea what that even means, House. Why don't you just go to sleep, and tomorrow you'll wake up all hung-over and embarrassed about this whole business."

Chase turned to go, when House grabbed his arm.

"Stay."

"I think not, House."

"Please? I want you to."

Chase turned back and was startled at House's sincere expression. He couldn't remember hearing House say 'please' for a serious request before. _He's so wasted_, Chase thought, _he's not even acting like House anymore_. "Get some sleep, House," he said gently.

"Don't leave, There's plenty of room for two here. Besides," House managed an eyebrow waggle, "I promise I won't molest you." He paused, "Unless you want to me to, of course."

That broke the tension and Chase laughed. _That's more like my House._ "I doubt you could get it up in your current state, so I'm quite sure my honor would be safe. It's just not a good idea, House."

"Why not?" House frowned.

Chase looked around the room and spotted a chair to bring to the bedside. He sat and looked at House thoughtfully for a long moment. _He obviously expects something, but it can't be what it seems._ Finally he decided to move ahead cautiously.

"Were you serious about what you said before?"

"Before what?"

"When you said you wanted to kiss me."

House flinched a little. "I said that, didn't I? I'm very stoned, you know."

Chase rose. "That's fine, House. It never happened."

Again House grabbed his arm. "But it did happen. And I wasn't stoned enough to make something like that up."

Chase couldn't believe how intense House looked. "Are you saying you weren't joking?"

"No, I wasn't."

Chase sat back down, puzzled. "Is this something you just came up with tonight?"

"No."

"Would you care to elaborate on that? I'm trying to figure out what's going on here."

House closed his eyes and Chase recognized the progression of small facial expressions that reflected House's thinking process.

When House turned back to Chase, he looked him directly in the eyes. "I know this sounds preposterous, given the way things have been between us, but I've been attracted to you for a long time. You may be a moron, but you're a _smart_ moron. You laugh at my jokes, and your jokes aren't always terrible. You believe in me, at least most of the time. You've got a _great_ ass. And I'm a sucker for pretentious accents."

Chase had to smile. He studied his shoes for a moment, thinking_, I feel like I've dropped into an absurdist drama. Or maybe that's because of Wilson's Beckett reference. This is just weird._

House spoke up again. "OK, that was probably the lamest come-on you've ever heard, but I mean it. I'm not joking."

Chase looked up at House's face. The man didn't look or sound very intoxicated anymore. "So, you're serious."

"Is that so hard to believe? Scratch that; it's a ridiculous question."

_Now that sounds like House_, Chase thought. "So you like my ass."

"Yes."

"And you _do_ want to kiss me."

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

House got his '_you're a moron'_ look. "Hardly. Would you like me to tell you _all_ the naughty things I'd like to do to you?"

Chase was amazed to find that prospect rather… well, not disgusting. In fact, it might even be interesting. Then his sense of self-preservation began to kick in. _I think I'd better steer this in a lighter direction._

"Given your mind, I think not, House. It would probably involve masks and a cane."

"Maybe later. I was thinking we could start with something simpler."

Chase looked away and scrubbed his face with his hand. When he turned back, his expression was soft, but serious.

"No, House. God knows it's not the least attractive proposition I've ever gotten. Maybe in another universe, but in this one, it's a really bad idea."

"Why? Because I'm your boss? Because I've insulted and abused you enough for ten men? Because I hit you? Because I'm a pathetic old cripple? Shit, I'm making your arguments for you, aren't I?

Chase smiled again ruefully. "Well, yeah. I think I could get past all of those reasons, though."

"I think I hear a 'but' in there somewhere."

Chase nodded. "_But_… I can't do this with you." He paused. "Just look at what happened tonight. Drugs and alcohol, House; I've seen it before. I've dealt with it up close before, and I just can't do it again. I can't watch you kill yourself and blame myself for not being able to stop it. Maybe I'm a coward, but I need some distance."

House settled back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. "OK then. Let's pretend this evening never happened."

"No, let's not. OK, I'll gladly blank out the vomiting part. _And_ the cold shower. And I promise never to ask who Zebalusky is. But I _want_ to remember this part of the conversation. I care about you, House. Please don't kill yourself; sometimes we forget, but there are things worth living for."

With that, Chase stood, then leaned over and placed a soft kiss on House's cheek. He straightened up. "Get some sleep."

He stopped briefly when he reached the doorway. Without turning back, he said softly, "Merry Christmas, House".

--

House didn't go to sleep.

--

When House saw the light coming from Tritter's office he wondered briefly what the hell they were both doing up at this hour of the morning. He walked in anyway.

"I'm ready to take the deal."

--

--

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